Remnants of Rose
by vanillajuly
Summary: He had gone missing again, but Martha had a pretty good idea of where he would be...DoctorRose, MarthaDoctor. Oneshot.


Disclaimer: Nope, don't own a thing

Thanks to the lovely Jacyangel for her quick beta. Comments muchly appreciated, but please be polite. Enjoy…

Remnants of Rose

He had gone missing again, but Martha had a pretty good idea of where he would be, because after the first three or so times that this had happened, she had followed him, and come to the conclusion that he was best left to it. So she went off to read in the library and didn't think to check on him, until three hours later when she suddenly realised that he still hadn't turned up. That was unusual. Normally he'd re-appear after about thirty minutes, a little more quiet than usual, but giving her a smile that was obviously supposed to indicate his being fine, and then promptly refusing to engage her in conversation.

A little hesitantly, Martha left the library, leaving the book she had been reading face down on the coffee table, and wandered off down the TARDIS corridors.

She knew the way quite well now. Left, and then right, and then take the second turn, and you came to a door. A pink door, standing incongruously in the green light of the ship.

Normally, when the Doctor was in there, she would hear his one sided conversation, emanating from the room. Today it was silent.

She put her hand on the wall. There was something funny about the Doctor's ship. Not just the way the halls seemed to change on a hourly basis. Perhaps it was the fact that they seemed to change to fit what she wanted, so that she always found what she was looking for faster than she should have. She had worked out quite quickly that the ship was psychic, in the same way that the Doctor was psychic. It made sense. It was his technology. Probably the reason why she understood the language wherever they went as well. But it was more than that. There was a presence to the TARDIS, a personality, and she now suspected that the ship itself was alive. She meant to ask the Doctor about it at some point, but she hadn't had a chance.

She thought that he planned it that way. Always on the run. Always moving. Not enough time to dwell on the past, because the future was always catching up too quickly. She'd have to talk to him about that at some point.

Martha chewed on her lip, standing outside the door. It was like an invisible boundary lay around this room, a boundary which she shouldn't cross. She walked to the end of the hall, then back again, then stopped back outside the door and tried to listen for the Doctor's voice again.

This was stupid, Martha thought with a shake of her head. It was only a room. There was nothing to suggest that she shouldn't go in. No keep out sign on the door, or yellow tape stuck across the floor. Besides it wasn't as though she hadn't been in there before- though the Doctor didn't know about that.

Martha took a deep breath raising her shoulders, and mentally preparing an explanation encase the Doctor did happen to be in there, she opened the door and stepped in confidently.

The first time she had followed the Doctor here, she waited in the room next door until he had left. It had been wrong of her to go in and she knew it. But then she never was good at keeping her hands off a mystery. Perhaps that was her problem with the Doctor.

She hadn't touched much, afraid to disturb this almost sacred place. Mostly she had just looked.

It was a bedroom. No doubt about it. With a generously sized single bed in the middle, and possessions -clearly belonging to a young woman - spread everywhere. No, it wasn't just _a _bedroom. This was Rose's bedroom.

There was clearly something more to Rose's leaving than her just leaving. But it was funny, the way that everything in the room was still in place, as though someone still lived here. Why wouldn't she take her stuff? It was the first time that Martha had considered the possibility that Rose might be dead. She would have expected the Doctor to tell her if she was, but then perhaps he was in denial. It wouldn't be the first time.

She ran her hand over the material of a purple hoodie, laid out lovingly on end of the bed. Picked up an oddly shaped object that clearly hadn't come from earth from the bedside table, then dropped it back down in a panic as it glowed blue.

The dressing table still had crumpled tissues on it, stained with liberal amounts of mascara. Rose had clearly liked her make up, judging from the bottles and containers of it scattered around.

There were a few of photos stuck to the mirror. Martha moved in for a closer look. One was of the Doctor, grinning widely, with his arm around a young woman with bottle blond hair, -presumably Rose- also smiling like she owned the world.

Martha leaned in closer, until her breath started to mist on the mirror. Rose was not at all what she had expected. The way the Doctor had described her, she had started to think of Rose as some ethereal being. But she looked so human. So mortal. Not that she wasn't beautiful mind. But, the excess of make up, the roots showing on her blond hair, the clothes that indicated her class to be slightly below Martha's own, gave her an edge of realness that the Doctor's own description never had. Perhaps she had been a Time Lord (lady?), like the Doctor, but somehow Martha thought not. No, this girl was young, and human, and judging by her clothes, from around Martha's time. It was ironic really. A great, pretentious Time Lord, falling head over heels for a young, human woman. Martha wondered briefly if she had managed to get there first, whether he might have fallen in love with _her_ instead.

The other two pictures also featured Rose. The first had the Doctor in it again, wearing a silly paper Christmas hat. Sitting on a sofa . Rose was curled up by his side. The picture featured two more people. An older woman, unmistakably Rose's mother, and a young, black guy. She couldn't quite work his presence out. Family perhaps, but then the slightly jealous look he was throwing the Doctor suggested something else.

The other photo was of Rose standing next to an older man, who was wearing a battered leather jacket and a slightly manic expression. Was he her father? They didn't look much alike if that was the case. Good thing for Rose. Martha wouldn't have wished those ears on anyone.

She found her fingers edging towards one of the draws on Rose's dressing table and drew back. She wasn't going to start rifling through all of the girl's stuff, no-matter how curious she was. Somehow it didn't seem right. That was when she left Rose's bedroom, knowing that sooner or later curiosity would drive her back in there.

The room felt different today. The light was dim. The pink walls complemented the golds of the ship's natural architecture. And she wasn't the only person in it. She had realise this within seconds of stepping inside. The Doctor's angular frame curled up on the bed was difficult to miss. She approached, looking for the slight rise and fall of his chest mostly out of habit.

"Doctor," she whispered, feeling it was best to make her presence known. "Doctor, are you awake?"

Clearly not.

She had never seen him asleep before. He hardly ever slept, as far as she could tell, unless you counted loss of consciousness, which Martha didn't.

She took a moment to study his face. It always surprised her that someone with such a young face could look so very ancient. But somehow with his eyes closed he looked younger, almost innocent, though she could never attribute him with that. He was grasping something in his left hand, and she recognised the purple hoodie that had previously lain on the end of the bed.

It was almost out of habit that, very carefully, so as not to wake him, she removed his chucks, smiling affectionately at his mismatched, overly-bright socks. She was so used to caring for people, and she had already put his shoes down in the floor besides the bed and moved to undo his tie before she even gave it thought.

Oh well. If he asked later on, she would tell him that she was afraid he might choke, she decided, pulling the silky piece of fabric from his collar and undoing the top two buttons of his shirt. With his penchant for trouble it was probably a viable excuse. It seemed like very time she rounded a corner she would find him up to his ears in some sort of peril. Today's near disaster had been an angry Scottish bloke with a sword.

Never mind. No permanent damage done, though he'd managed to get a pretty deep cut, down near the small of his back. His jacket had already been discarded somewhere, and he was wearing a fresh shirt. A blue, cotton one that looked particularly nice on him. Martha edged round to the other side of the bed and carefully lifted the soft fabric of the shirt enough that she could see the gauzy cloth covering the wound, trying to remain objective to the sight of pale skin, the faint shadow of his spine and flat line of his hips.

She froze as he shifted slightly, burying his face deeper into the pillow. After a moment's hesitation she carried on, very gently pulling away the gauze and leaning in to check her stitches.

She ought to pass her exams easily after all this. She should get extra credit for also being able to treat people belonging to other species. Martha briefly imagined putting down the method for performing CPR on a person with two hearts. Perhaps not.

The wound was healing nicely, though it was a little red around the edges, she made a mental note to keep an eye on that. She doubted it would be a problem though. It was healing at several times the speed that it would have on a human. Oh what some of the Doctors in her hospital would have given to get their hands on him. Martha shuddered. God forbid he ever hurt himself seriously, because she was never ever taking him anywhere near a hospital.

It was a little chilly and the Doctor was clearly noticing the fact that his shoes had been removed because he shifted his feet in slightly to preserve warmth. Martha pulled a thick, yellow blanket from an armchair behind her draped it over him, leaning in to tuck the edges around his shoulders. She realised that her face was hovering just above his, her lips just inches from his lips. Martha took a deep breath, taking in the slightly sweet smell that he seemed to give off. After another moments hesitation she pulled back, and brushed his fringe away from his face with the palm of her hand.

"Rose?"

Martha jumped, and took a step back.

"No Doctor it's me, Martha." She sat down on the side of the bed,

His eyebrows drew down into a crease. "Rose?"

He had never spoken to her like that. Never with so much desperation. So much love. Martha sighed and rubbed her thumb over his blanket covered shoulder. It was the point at which she'd realised that she must be well and truly in love. The day when she had almost wished that Rose could be there, just so that he wouldn't look so lost.

"Shhh, I'm here."

Not technically a lie. Not technically the truth either.

"Rose, I never told you."

This was her cue to leave. To give him the space to voice his thoughts to this empty room. So why wasn't she going? He shifted again, moving slightly closer towards her.

"I never told you that I l…I…I love…"

"Hush," Martha stopped him, not quite able to let him say those words that he would never say to her.

"-hushushush. I know Doctor."

This time she did get up, taking one last look at his face. He looked peaceful now. The line on his forehead had smoothed out and his lips had settled into a slight pout. She was being outdone by the ghost of a girl that she'd never even met.

"Goodnight Doctor," she whispered, going to the door

She wanted to call him _her _Doctor, but he didn't belong to her. He was Rose' Doctor, the universe's Doctor, but never hers.

She stopped before she left the room.

"You're not alone Doctor. You have me," she told him, and closed the door knowing that he hadn't heard her.


End file.
